


Old Town Home

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignettes, Yuletide 2016, covers all of season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:50:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: This is what home means to Pree.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sally (team_fen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_fen/gifts).



Pree came to Old Town because he needed a place to lie low. A place where people had their own problems and worries, enough that they wouldn't pay any mind to his.

He stayed in Old Town because the place, the people, had become a home. 

***

"Well?," Johnny asks, his hand running affectionately over a bulkhead. "You haven't told me yet. What do you think?"

Pree laughs, pouring himself another drink. "Best ship in the Quad."

"Damn right," Johnny says with a grin. "The man gave you a compliment, Lucy. What do you say?"

"Thank you, Pree. And John." And damn if the AI's programming doesn't manage to sound pleased.

"We've established that the problem isn't Lucy. And now that we've got D'av back we're going to figure out what the Company is doing in Old Town. You don't need to worry or brood or whatever this is." Johnny pulls out the chair across from Pree, grabbing the Hokk, and taking a drink straight from the bottle. "So why aren't you sleeping?"

Pree pulls a face, mostly mock offense. "Sugar, I never brood, that's Dutch's job."

Johnny shakes his head with a laugh. "You ain't kidding. So what is it then?"

"It's just too quiet for me to sleep."

"Quiet?" Johnny asks. Tilting his head like he's noticing it for the first time. The slight hum of efficient operating systems and absolutely nothing else but silence.

Pree shrugs a shoulder, his finger tracing an orbit around the rim of his glass. "I've been living on that moon a long time now. You get used to the sounds. The miners drilling. The Scarbacks chanting. Songs, shouts, glass breaking. Just like a lullaby." 

John leans back in his chair, takes another drink, before he carefully says, "You miss home."

"I do." Pree sighs. Some people don't know what they've got until it's gone, but Pree had never counted himself among them. He had lived too many lives not to appreciate the one he was living now. The one he hoped to go back to living when this was all over. His life in Old Town.

***

He slides a glass across the bar to D'avin, who accepts it with a grateful nod. Sabine hasn't yet acknowledged his presence and the man looks too forlorn to be tolerated.

"You look like a man with something on his mind," Pree says. And in case the boy needs a little prompt; "What is it this time? Dutch? The RAC? The Company?"

D'avin shakes his head, attempts a sad little something that might someday be a smile. "Nothing that won't wait until tomorrow. Talk to me about anything else." He drains the glass, slides it back to Pree.

"Like what, sweetie?"

D'avin's eyes roam the space, obviously trying to come up with something, just as obviously trying not to let his gaze linger on Sabine. "The Royale," he says, finally. "How did you come up with that name?"

"The name came with the location. But it suited me just fine," Pree says, using the break to wipe down glasses, keeping his ear out for paying customers on the other end of the bar.

"The previous owner never said what it meant before you bought him out?" Pree rolls his eyes. That damn Jaqobis curiousity. Those two could find trouble with their eyes closed.

"The previous owner wasn't saying much of anything at the time. And it wasn't so much a "buy out" as it was - well, let's just call it an exchange."

D'avin sits forward, his full attention on Pree, for now. "That sounds like a story worth hearing."

"Mmm, it certainly is." Pree winks. Deception, betrayal, blackmail, sex. And that was just what it took to get him to Westerley.

"So what happened to the previous owner? After the "exchange"?" D'avin asks. And Pree has to hand it to him. For someone relatively new to the trade, he has a Killjoy's talent for getting down to the dirt.

Pree leans in, eye to eye with D'avin. "Could be either of two things. Either he lived. Or he didn't," Pree says, and he smiles as D'avin sits back with an impressed nod. A customer is waving to him, so he leaves D'avin with one last little tidbit to mull over. "If ever on your travels you find out the answer to that question - Gorgeous, you be sure to let me know."

***

There may be better ways to wake up than in your own gloriously comfortable bed, pressed up against a beautiful man, but Pree sure as hells can't think of any.

He gets up humming, a little riff on the chorus of "Blessed Be the Qreshi". The tune has been on his mind ever since a second or third cousin to the Derrish family heir walked through the doors of The Royale last night, bold and broad shouldered. Two of Pree's favorite qualities in a man.

His beautiful bedmate rolls over at the sound, rumpled and smiling. "Why aren't you a famous singer somewhere?" he asks, his own voice deep, still sleep rough.

"What makes you think that I'm not?" Pree says over his shoulder, casually, perusing his wardrobe.

"You should be adorning salons on Qresh. Covered in silks and jewels. Showered with joy. With your face and your voice - perfection. You'd be a star like no other."

Pree wraps the silk robe he selected tightly around himself, and gives the man the smile he deserves for that. "Bross Derrish. Delicious boy. Haven't you sweet talked me enough for one evening?"

"I mean it. Come to Qresh. You'll see. You would have sponsors lining up at your door." Bross pats the space in the bed next to him invitingly. 

Pree takes the seat, crossing his legs with a sigh. "I'm happy where I am. This is where I'm meant to be. Although I'm happy to entertain the occasional Qreshi visitor."

"Only occasionally?" Bross takes the hand Pree offers down to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the knuckles.

"I suppose if you think you have the stamina for more than that, then it seems like you know where to find me," Pree says and allows Bross to tug him closer for more of those lingering kisses.

***

Dutch is a friend. So is Johnny. When Johnny leaves, Pree knows enough not to say anything, to open the bar back up and pour the lady a drink, then keep them coming.

"He's never going to come back, is he?" Dutch asks, finally, quietly. She looks at him, and of everything Dutch has ever been through, this might be the thing to break her.

Pree presses a hand on top of hers, squeezes tight, hoping it reminds her of her strength. "Of course he will. He's hurting. But he hasn't forgotten who his people are. Where he belongs."

"I just want him to come home," Dutch admits. Not exactly what Pree would call a secret; hells, it would be obvious to anyone with eyes that this is her worst fears come to life.

Pree is a bartender. That is the life he chose, and The Royale is the home that he took for himself. He used to lie and cheat and steal as a matter of course. But he isn't that business anymore, and Dutch wouldn't buy a lie from him anyway. But in this case - in his home with his friend, he can offer something true. "Sweetie, home is waiting for him when he's ready. We'll all be right here."

Dutch nods, turns her hand around so that it's clutching Pree's. "I'm going to kick his ass when he gets here," Dutch says with a watery laugh.

Pree laughs with her. "In Old Town, that's just how we say 'welcome home.'"


End file.
